Into the Heart of One Great Brain

In Other Words: Story of the Mystery & the Mason

“And as I watch your chest rise and fall, my hands tremble at the miracle of life I am witness to every single day.

I have both raged at God and fallen before Him in thanksgiving in the midst of this journey and my love for you has taught me that faith is undefinable, that love is the cornerstone in all the great mysteries of this life. I do not have any more answers than when we began…”

“The children are a part of my sanctification,” I said to a girl last week. “They have taught me so much – about anger and sadness, about healing and forgiveness, about being a part of love deeper than oceans and wider than skies.” I remember looking up, wondering if I had gone too far with words labeled lofty and cerebral.

“I just don’t know if I’d be a good mom right now,” she said.

“That’s crazy talk,” I said, remembering the words slung at a twenty something me late one night at work. We were putting merchandise from a cart back into place on the shelves. She turned, holding two nerf balls, and looked at me hard over the cart – “I just don’t think the words ‘Mom’ and ‘Cindy’ go together.” Her words crept in when I was first pregnant. And when I lost that child, I fought the idea that they might be true. I fought hard.

I looked at this girl then into the sky with its scant clouds and fast wind. “I think you are,” I shrugged. “I mean you know the basics – diapers, feeding, and stuff. The rest you learn as you go so you’re always the best mom for your children at that time. You grow together, you know?”

When I walked into the building, holding the door for her, these words slipped in about a faith and a love that are mystery. I have raged at God, too, I remember whispering into the glowing screen. I have bent low in repentance, bent lower with gratitude. I, too, know little more now than I did when I first held my new sticky babies and when I finally wrapped my arms around two taller walking boys gifted to me over Easter eggs and rising bread.

I walked the stairs up and smiled to myself because I watch, not only my children breathe dreams in beds, but also my husband.

“Maybe the words ‘Wife’ and ‘Cindy’ don’t go together,” comes the thought. I sigh heavy, hearing the echo of my footfall in the stairwell. I think of Jesus and Peter, on whom the church was built. I think of how Jesus said to him, “Get behind me Satan! You are a stumbling block.”

When my sweet husband sleeps, his eyes don’t close completely. It’s as if he’s watching out through amazingly thick, long lashes to make certain nothing sneaks up on him. His arms are crooked on his chest like bird wings in that fast wind and his legs are long, stretched straight and taunt. His chin is always tilted up and out from the mound of pillows. My hands tremble here too.

I sat and sighed hard, thinking of us and lifting high while bowed low in that deep wordless sort of prayer a wife has for her husband only.

Now I think of the story told last night about the mason. He was picking up pieces from the pile my husband was clearing to use as the guides for the corners. He said in broken English that this was his job, to let my husband know he was supposed to be there. I fully listened to the story of how my husband nodded reassurance, how the broken pieces that most considered were trash were used to bolster the corners of the new house for tomorrow’s work of laying brick, how the brick has to be laid straight and level with the foundation.

I carried that story to bed with me. I laid there thinking of the mason’s hands and these words. I could feel them swim in blood, pump through my heart and rest into white bone.

___

Thank you for swinging by this week’s In Other Words. If you would like to link up, simply slip your link in the comment box below. I am traveling home today so my response will be slow. Thank you for your mercy and grace.

Sorry for joining in late . . . it’s been some busy crazy days! Thank you for sharing your heart . . . and I know so many of us moms at times feel so worthless, esp. when we blow it. Had a couple days like that last week that took some major work with a daughter.

This quote did strike my “heart” too . . . . especially with the timing of taking our daughter for her cardiology appt. on Monday. 🙂

Friend, there is no late anymore. There’s the phrase “When I get there” Big smiles. I’m praying for you and your family consistently. I hope the appt and your daughter are well. And Loni, I totally get the worthless parent syndrome. I tell my children I will fail them and so will others. Only God will always be perfect. Sending big love north to you.

From the male perspective, I don’t think it’s too different.
Just mirrored on the reverse side of gender. Babies are brittle and awkward to the new dad, who begins to question his abilities when he first lifts that tiny being to below his chin.

And, after five children and three grandchildren, you realize it wasn’t you anyhow. You were there along for the ride.

The Big Idea

To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don't want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.
- Madonna

My Prayer…

Dear Lord grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of Your universe. Delight me to see how Your Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not His, to the Father through the features of men's faces. Each day enrapture me with Your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.